


play to win

by humanveil



Category: Marvel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Sakaar (Marvel), Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “So,” says the Grandmaster, his gaze trailing from Loki’s face to his feet and back up again. “Are you a lover, or a fighter?”





	play to win

**Author's Note:**

> trying to get the grandmaster’s speech pattern down after only seeing ragnarok once (yesterday) is listed in the top five most difficult things i have ever tried to do. that said, i tried, and i hope you find it enjoyable.
> 
> also, i wasn’t actually sure if i should tag consent issues but i did it to be safe. it’s nothing too major, just the setting/motive is questionable.

Arriving on Sakaar is something of a whirlwind.

There’s an introduction, and then a field of garbage, and then creatures dressed in rags claiming him to be _food_. The scavenger had arrived next, and he’d dared to be relieved until a taser had stuck itself to the side of his neck. A rather unfortunate fly had followed, and then _this_ —a bright coloured room with large windows spanning the walls, a crowd of people gathered around him and heavy restraints keeping him pressed to a chair.

The room itself is rather blocky, the place a bit of an assault to the senses. Outside looks nicer, at least. Looks like a place to live—to thrive.

If he plays his cards right, Loki thinks he’ll be able to do just that.

It’s why he sits, impassive, as the Grandmaster talks, as he thanks the scavenger for her _pretty_ find, as he circles Loki’s seat, coos over him. Why he stays securely restrained under the metal wrapped around his wrists. He imagines he could get out if he wanted to, but sitting here, the centre of attention, Loki isn’t quite sure it’s the best decision to make.

Better to give them the show they desire, and use it to his favour.

The Grandmaster comes to settle before him, and Loki has to tilt his head back to look. There is mirth in the Grandmaster’s eyes, Loki thinks. A hint of sadism, too. All mixed together by a glimpse of want, desire, _attraction_.

He readies himself for the worst.

“So,” says the Grandmaster, his gaze trailing from Loki’s face to his feet and back up again. “Are you a lover, or a fighter?”

It’s said in a way which implies that those are the only two options, the tone of voice carrying that same hint of humour seen in the Grandmaster’s expression. Loki calculates, quickly, the best course of action—how best to get in the man’s good graces, how to gain his favour.

_Fuck, or fight?_

He could fight if he had to, but who against? The circumstances are unknown, his opponent yet to be seen. Loki imagines a fight option would not include close involvement with the Grandmaster, but the other…

_The other._

To fight is a gamble he’s not willing to take.

“A lover,” he answers, his eyes locked with the Grandmaster’s. As he watches the Grandmaster’s mouth twist to a smile, as he sees the interest in the Grandmaster’s eyes grow, Loki thinks he gave the hoped-for answer.

The reaction is more babbling, more cooing, more rambling. Loki catches an _oh, wonderful, yes, we’ll see how well you do…_ and wonders just what he’s got himself into.

-

He finds out hours later.

He’d been put up in a room not long after his admission, had been told to wait, to relax, to enjoy himself. That the Grandmaster would call when he was ready.

As a new figure appears at his door, Loki assumes the Grandmaster is now ready.

“This way,” says the servant, and Loki doesn’t respond. He simply follows, cements the route to his memory as they pass through winding halls.

He finds himself before a door, the frame painted red and gold and glittering under the too bright lights. A voice from within commands him to enter, and the servant scurries away at the sound, side eyeing Loki as they go.

Loki pushes the door open, passes through, and finds the Grandmaster sat atop a large lounge. An arm is outstretched over the back of the seat, one leg crossed over the other, his figure adorned in the same gold robe as before. Loki steps forward, stills when the Grandmaster lifts his hand to stop him.

He stands mere meters in front of him, completely still as the Grandmaster’s gaze trails over his body, his face—the feel of it somewhere between examination and admiration.

“I see you’ve changed,” he says, and Loki gives a single, curt nod.

“Yes,” he answers. He’d been asked to—had been handed an outfit by another one of Sakaar’s servants hours ago. _The Grandmaster’s request_ , they’d said, and Loki had thought it best to wear it.

It was a robe of a deep, vibrant blue, not unlike the style of the Grandmaster’s. Loki had been surprised, had expected something more… _revealing_. Still, the fabric flows, would be quick to remove.

 _Easily accessible,_ Loki thinks now, information clicking into place.

“I trust it meets your expectations,” he murmurs, the sentence half a question. The Grandmaster laughs in response, a loud, hearty chuckle.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “It’s great, I love it. Love… this.” He waves a hand in Loki’s general direction, leaves Loki wondering what exactly _this_ is. “You’re, uh. Rather beautiful.”

Loki dips his head in an act of modesty. “Thank you,” he says, and it’s met with another laugh. 

“Come,” says the Grandmaster, his fingers tapping the top of his knee. There’s a smirk on his face, a promise in his eye. “That’s it, take a seat. Very good—yes. Yes, very good.”

There’s no mistaking where the Grandmaster wants him to sit, so Loki steps forward and settles down on his lap, his expression impassive as the Grandmaster curls an arm around his waist, as he pulls him closer. Gets _comfortable._

 _“Yes,”_ says the Grandmaster again, his voice soft and breathy this time. Loki wonders if the needless rambling will keep up throughout the evening. “Just how I like.”

There is hardly any preamble, and Loki is rather thankful for it. The Grandmaster rubs a hand up his back, his touch warm, the pressure placed with intent. It trails up his spine, settles at the base of his neck.

“I like to, uh. Test my lovers,” the Grandmaster murmurs, his fingers brushing Loki’s hair from his face. “Make sure they’re up to par.”

Loki sees the kiss coming before it happens, and he leans into it, lets the Grandmaster claim his mouth, makes sure to kiss him back without the pause of surprise. It’s surprisingly slow, sensual. More considerate of his own enjoyment than Loki had thought it would be.

When the Grandmaster pulls away, Loki attempts to follow his mouth. He’s pulled back by a tug to his hair, the Grandmaster chuckling once more. “Eager, hm?” he says. “All in good time, darling. All in good time.”

Loki opens his mouth to say something, but a finger is held to his lips, the Grandmaster shushing him before he can speak. The touch is followed by another kiss, this one more chaste than the last.

“Why don’t you get on the floor,” the Grandmaster suggests, his voice low and soft and yet no less commanding. “Settle down, yes—” His hands rest on Loki’s shoulders, his touch helping him to the ground. “That’s it, gorgeous. Kneel.”

The last command sends a spike of annoyance through Loki, but he ignores it for now, chooses instead to settle in front of the seat as asked. The Grandmaster smiles, leans forward to kiss him again, and Loki lets him. He tilts his head back, the angle awkward.

The hands on his shoulders smooth over the fabric, the Grandmaster’s fingers trailing over his upper body to part his robe, to push it off his shoulders. Loki moans, mostly for show, as it pools around his waist, leaves his chest bare.

The Grandmaster pulls away from their kiss, a hand holding Loki’s head in place. The touch of his fingertips against Loki’s jaw is delicate, but Loki stays put—still unless the Grandmaster prompts him to move.

There’s a hum of appreciation as the Grandmaster looks on, his mouth a smirk as he comments on Loki’s looks. “I do enjoy the pretty ones,” he murmurs, the words said to himself. “And the blue— _magnificent.”_

A thumb trails over Loki’s bottom lip, smudging the paint that had stained his skin through their kissing, and then the Grandmaster is sitting back in his chair, is parting his own robe. It becomes apparent rather abruptly that the golden robe is the only thing he wears, and Loki has to mask his surprise as it falls away to reveal a forming erection. The Grandmaster takes himself in hand, rubs slowly as he looks at Loki.

“Your mouth first,” he says. It’s practically an order, and Loki listens—sits up and shuffles forward, bracing himself against the Grandmaster’s thighs.

It’s not ideal, but it’s easy. Loki replaces the Grandmaster’s hand with his own, moves it in a slow, torturous touch until the Grandmaster is fully hard, until his breath comes in quick, quiet pants, until he can _hear_ the desire. Only then does he lean forward and place the tip in his mouth, the Grandmaster’s fingers twisting in his hair as he swallows the cock inch by inch.

“Oh, oh, oh,” breathes the Grandmaster, guiding Loki’s head gently. “Wonderful. Just wonderful.”

The Grandmaster continues on with his rambling, and Loki ignores most of it, focuses instead on the task at hand. It’s rather easy, really, to get lost in it. If he fixates on pleasing the Grandmaster, on doing exactly what he wants, how he wants, he can almost forget why he has to—why he’s here.

He doubles his efforts, pulls out every trick he’s ever learnt. The Grandmaster seems to eat it up, praise falling from his lips in a mindless babble, and Loki lets it wash over him, lets himself enjoy it. He sees no reason not to.

The Grandmaster groans as his cock hits the back of Loki’s throat, and Loki looks up at him through dark eyelashes, gets a glimpse of the blissed-out expression. He eases off slowly, circles the head with his tongue, works the shaft with his hand, and then eases down again, his rhythm steady. He moans around the Grandmaster’s cock, pleased when the vibration sets off a long string of obscenities.

The pressure of the hand on his head increases after that, the Grandmaster’s guidance more forceful. Loki lets him take control, lets him set a quicker pace, lets him use his mouth however he pleases. The Grandmaster seems to like it—seems to get off on the power. His groaning increases in volume, his hold on Loki’s hair tightening to something almost painful.

Hips buck up off the lounge as the Grandmaster presses his head down, and Loki struggles not to gag at the surprise force of it, his fingers clenching around the Grandmaster’s thigh. He can’t help the slight choke, though, and it’s what sets the Grandmaster off, what has him urging Loki to pull away.

Loki’s back arches as his hair is pulled, his eyes shutting as a gasp passes through parted lips. The Grandmaster reaches his climax with a long groan, his come splattering across Loki’s chest, his chin.

He stills as the Grandmaster slumps back in his seat, his breath coming heavier than before. Loki can feel that gaze on him again, and he opens his eyes, sees the Grandmaster smile brightly in his direction.

“Oh, wow,” the man mumbles. “Much better than I thought—hoped—”

He trails off on another ramble, and Loki sits patiently, waits to see how it’ll play out. He hums when the Grandmaster sits forward again, his fingers brushing stray strands of hair from Loki’s forehead, and meets his eye. The Grandmaster trails his fingers over Loki’s cheekbone, down to his chin. A thumb brushes over his bottom lip again, dips downward to swipe at a stray drop of come, and Loki slips his tongue out on instinct, pleased to see the Grandmaster’s surprise at the act. The Grandmaster places his thumb back against Loki’s lips, and Loki sucks it into his mouth like he knows the Grandmaster wants him to.

The reaction he gets is the widening of a smile, is a mischievous glint to the Grandmaster’s eyes. “I think you’ll do beautifully,” he says, his voice fond, and Loki allows himself a small, satisfied smile.

Favour—he’s gained it.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos = ♡♡♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/irnstrk) / [tumblr](http://humanveil.tumblr.com/)


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